One Condition
by AmayaSora
Summary: Conditions shouldn't be attached to forgiveness, but somehow Harry isn't surprised that Malfoy's trying. HPDM preslash, Hogwarts era.


**This is a companion piece to my story "An Endless Night," a bit of a prequel if you will. But don't worry if you read the other one fist (obviously; I posted it first!) because they both stand alone as their own fics. I just could not leave that story alone, and this vignette was begging to be written.**

**Draco/Harry pre-slash. Set in sixth year, canon compliant. **

**Enjoy,**

**-AmayaSora**

_**DISCLAIMER**_**: I don't own Harry, Draco, or any other part of JKR's wonderful Potterverse. I do not get any profit whatsoever from writing this, and do so only out of love for the characters and the craft.**

One Condition

Harry was hovering outside the door to the Hospital Wing. Even with the Invisibility Cloak on, there was a chance of getting caught if he hung around long enough- which might have been part of the reason he was doing it. Because if a professor caught him, they'd send him straight to bed, and he'd know that he'd _tried_, and it wasn't his fault he didn't get in. Maybe it just wasn't meant to be.

His stomach squirmed uncomfortably; he didn't _want_ to be here at all, but nonetheless knew he had to. It was the right thing to do, and his conscience wouldn't let him rest until he listened to it. So, mustering up all the Gryffindor courage he possessed, Harry quietly pushed open the door and slipped inside.

Immediately he felt some small relief; there were no beds occupied except the one at the far end of the hall, in which Harry could just make out the outline under the covers, moving as its chest rose and fell. Harry whispered _Muffliato_ at Madame Pomfrey's door before tiptoeing across the ward.

He stopped a respectful distance from the bed and stowed the Cloak in his pocket- no need to reveal one of his secret weapons. Only then did Harry really look at the figure in the bed.

Malfoy had managed to get the blankets bunched around his waist and tangled with his legs, permitting Harry to see the bandages wrapped all the way around his torso. They were crisp and white, though, so at least the bleeding had stopped. He also had a small gauze strip on his cheek, where another arm of the Sectumsempra had hit him. Harry still couldn't believe he'd done this to another person, even Malfoy. It was a curse he never intended to use again, that was for sure.

Malfoy's hand jerked upward, and for one terrifying moment Harry thought he had awoken. But, no; apparently, he twitched in his sleep. Muscles in his face were working, too, deepening his frown. Sleep evidently wasn't restful when the bloke did get it, which explained his appearance of late. It reminded Harry of fifth year, when images from Voldemort's mind haunted his own dreams... he shivered. No need to go down that road now. He was here to apologize to Malfoy, which would be hard enough without that added stress.

Thinking he'd better get it over with (and, yeah, waking Malfoy from an undoubtedly unpleasant dream didn't hurt), Harry cleared his throat loudly. When that didn't work, he whispered, "Malfoy." Again, no luck, so he stopped nearer to the bedside and raised his voice slightly. "Hey, Malfoy."

This time, Malfoy's eyes opened, slowly. He seemed slightly groggy. After taking a moment to blink some of the sleep away, he turned his head and finally caught sight of Harry. "Yahhhh!" he yelped, bolting upright. He was trying to dart out of bed, too, but the mess of covers tangled with his legs prevented him.

"Shh, shh, Malfoy, it's okay," Harry said, holding his hands out to show he wasn't holding a wand.

"Come to finish the job, Potter?" he jeered, searching for something, presumably his own wand. Harry knew that Madame Pomfrey always put her charges' wands in the top drawer of the dresser, but didn't feel the need to share this information with Malfoy.

"Merlin no!" he cried. "I should never have used a spell like that in the first place."

"No, you bloody well shouldn't've! What will the legions of fans think, now Saint Potter has dirtied his hands with Dark Magic?"

"I- well, you sounded like you were about to use an Unforgiveable, so-" Harry forced himself to stop. He didn't feel right parroting Ginny's words when he wasn't sure he believed them, and besides, now certainly wasn't the time to start arguing with Malfoy. He inhaled through his nose and started again, quite calmly. "That's not why. I shouldn't have done it because it was a nasty, scummy thing to do. I-I didn't know what the curse would do, or I wouldn't-"

"You didn't know what it would do!" Malfoy screeched. "Good lord, Potter, I always knew you were incompetent, but that's just criminally stupid!"

"I'm not stupid!" Harry cried. "I just made a mistake. Or has that never happened to you? Are you just so _perfect_ that-"

"This conversation is beginning to bore me," Malfoy drawled, cutting across Harry. "I think I'll just get you detention again, Potter. Maybe I'll be lucky and they'll expel you this time. Madame Pomfrey! _Madame Pomfrey!"_ he yelled.

Harry smirked. "Won't do any good; she can't hear us."

Malfoy stopped at once to glare at Harry. "Think you're real clever, don't you? Nearly murder me and you get off scot free, it's-"

"It's not scot free. Snape's given me detention every Saturday until the end of term."

"So you'll miss Quidditch then," Malfoy said viciously. "Serves you right, of course, small consolation though it is to me."

"Yeah," said Harry quickly. He _knew_ this was a bad idea. His temper was boiling now, and he wanted to get out of there before he did something _else_ he'd regret. "Consolation. That's actually why I'm here. I wanted to say... to tell you... that I'm sorry, Malfoy. Really. I'm sorry for cursing you," he said earnestly.

Malfoy was struck speechless; evidently he hadn't been expecting to hear anything of the sort from Harry. And the depth of his surprise made Harry wonder, however briefly, if anyone had ever apologized to Malfoy at all, for anything.

The next second Malfoy's eyes lost their wide, wondered look and became cold and guarded. He spoke in blunt, clipped tones. "Are you expecting me to accept your apology?"

"Well, I-"

"Because I won't," he continued stubbornly.

Harry swallowed the bitter retort bubbling up. Instead, he nodded stiffly. "Right. Well, I've said what I meant to. Good-bye, then."

Harry had only gone two steps when Malfoy's voice called him back. "Potter." Harry turned around, expectant and questioning, to find Malfoy looking strangely vulnerable. "I have decided to _consider _accepting your apology- on one condition."

Conditions shouldn't be attached in any way to things like forgiveness, Harry thought... but, this was Malfoy, and he honestly wasn't surprised. Yet something in the blond's face stopped him from just storming away. Warily, he asked, "What's that?"

"Cast your Patronus for me."

Whatever Harry was expecting, it certainly wasn't this. "M-my Patronus?"

"Correct."

"Just my Patronus? Th-that's it?"

Malfoy frowned. "Yes, Potter. I assumed the request was both simple and straightforward; thank you for correcting me."

Harry gave him a look. "I was just shocked it wasn't something dangerous or humiliating."

"Well, if you insist, I could find _something_ that-"

"No, no, that's fine," Harry said hastily. "Patronus it is. Um, are you ready?"

"Before I'm fifty, Potter."

"Right, yeah, sorry." Harry felt strangely nervous. Aside from OWLs, he had never cast a Patronus simply to show it to someone. He drew his wand from his Cloak-free pocket (Malfoy watched warily) and closed his eyes. He thought of Ron and Hermione, Christmas at the Burrow with them and Remus, and intoned, "_Expecto Patronum!"_

The silver stag leapt from his wand tip and took a moment to fully solidify before beginning a slow canter around the room. Malfoy was following its every move, transfixed. Something seemed to wake inside his eyes, some spark that, now that it had returned, Harry realized had been missing for the past year.

The stag slowed to a walk as it neared Malfoy's bed. He seemed to have forgotten that Harry was there, because he raised a hand as if to touch it. It ducked its head apologetically, but did one better, stretching its neck past the outstretched arm to exhale on Malfoy's injured cheek. Then, it raised its nose to lightly brush Malfoy's forehead before dissolving into a swirling mist. Before the light faded, Harry caught sight of Malfoy's face: a glorious smile blossomed there, a _real _smile. A beautiful smile.

Harry blinked to readjust his eyes to the darkness. He was well aware that he'd witnessed something incredibly special and meaningful. But what did one say after something like that? Harry had never been particularly good with words.

Thankfully, Malfoy spoke for him. "Why is it a stag?" he whispered.

"My dad," Harry replied. Somehow, lying didn't even occur to him.

"You really care for him. And your mum, even though you've never met them."

"Yes."

Malfoy was silent for a long while. Then, he said, "The Weasleys have almost adopted you into their family, haven't they?"

"Or I've adopted them... something of that sort."

"We're not as different as I thought," Malfoy said slowly. Then again, with more conviction: "We're really not."

Harry had only about half a clue where Malfoy was coming from, but he could definitely recognize some of himself in the boy who shivered at night, struggling under heavy burdens, and yet could take delight in magic like a Patronus. "I guess we're not," he agreed.

"I wonder what else we have in common..." Malfoy mused.

"I dunno... er... what's your favorite dessert?"

Malfoy looked at him oddly, but without malice. "Your first thought is dessert?"

Harry shrugged and said, a little defensively, "I'm a bit hungry."

Malfoy nodded. "Yes... well, if I had to choose, I guess I would say... treacle tart."

Harry began to laugh quietly. Malfoy looked offended, so he quickly clarified. "No, sorry- it's just, that's my favorite too."

"Really?" Malfoy asked, with a small smile.

"Yeah."

Harry found that he really enjoyed the ensuing conversation, and was reluctant to end it even as it approached midnight. He couldn't really recall the last time he'd had a conversation this long. And it was refreshing to talk about mundane things, like favorite colors and classes and who stood what chance in the Quidditch Cup this year, the kinds of small details that turned two people from strangers into friends. Malfoy could be alright, when given the chance, Harry mused.

At last, Harry began yawning as the events of the day finally caught up with him. "Er... I guess I better be heading back," he said reluctantly.

"Yes... sleep would do me good as well," Malfoy agreed. "You'll be able to return to Gryffindor Tower without getting caught?"

"Don't worry about that," said Harry with a smirk, thinking of his Cloak.

"Then I shan't."

"Right, well... I'm glad you're doing okay, Malfoy."

Malfoy nodded. "Madame Pomfrey says I should be free to go tomorrow, once the dittany has all soaked in."

"Brilliant! So... I guess this is goodbye then."

"I suppose..." drawled Malfoy. After a second's pause, he raised his eyes to Harry's face. "On second thought, I think that I may need some more time to recover after all; my wounds are still a bit tender. I'm sure I could persuade Madame Pomfrey to let me stay another night."

"Er... alright..."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Potter, you're rather dense, aren't you? I'm _sure_ your conscience will continue to nag you mercilessly, knowing your poor victim is still out of sorts. Obviously a return visit will be required if you're to get your precious beauty sleep."

A slow smile spread across Harry's face. Malfoy's whole speech had been warmly teasing, not mocking. "You know, you're probably right, Malfoy."

"Of course I am."

Harry half-smiled and rolled his eyes. "Except when it comes to Quidditch. I mean, the Cannons-"

"Now you're _really _going to make me feel ill. I thought we'd agreed to disagree on that."

"For now," said Harry. "Sooner or later you'll come around."

"Highly unlikely," Malfoy scoffed. "Regardless, now is not the time. Weren't you saying something about insurmountable exhaustion?"

"Yeah... well, I'll see you tomorrow, Malfoy."

The blond nodded. Harry smiled to himself as he turned away and walked back towards the door. He _would_ come back and see Malfoy tomorrow, maybe a bit earlier. He was feeling just as relaxed as Malfoy looked, now that this truce of sorts was in place. And who knew? Maybe, given enough time, Harry could get Malfoy to confide in him about his involvement with Voldemort and together they could work out a solution. Harry was convinced now that whatever Malfoy was doing, it was under coercion; the bloke had seemed so _normal_, not nearly as fanatical as many of the Death Eaters were. There was hope for him yet.

Just as Harry reached the door and raised his wand to undo the _Muffliato _he'd cast upon arriving, Malfoy called out. "Oh, and Potter? Apology accepted."


End file.
